


Muted

by foolforcolours (evangellie)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee Are Best Friends, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan-centric, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trauma, Victim Blaming, Violence, but a whoooole lot of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangellie/pseuds/foolforcolours
Summary: Donghyuck is at loss for words, and almost snorts at the thought that this is actually quite literal. He is wordless, robbed of words, speechless… muted.





	1. Drowning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soorin/gifts).



> There I was, giving too many suggestions, altering a story too much, when Soorin suggested that I write my own story. So here you go, the start of a "Donghyuck suffers" story. Hopefully, it's mildly interesting and not too alike to what is already there. Not beta-ed. Tags and warnings will get updated as the story (hopefully) progresses.

He is on stage when it happens.

They are on stand-by, waiting but the lights seem unusually bright and he has to blink repeatedly to make the dark spots that dot his vision disappear. He tries swallowing a few times to get rid of the lump that has suddenly formed at the back of his throat. The music starts and his body automatically follows the beats — _one two three and four_ — but his mind is focused on the mass that rests heavy on the back of his throat, enclosing his vocal folds, and suddenly it’s his solo line but the only sound that comes out is a wheeze. He barely hears it in his earpiece. His fingers automatically reach for the mic though he knows it’s him who is malfunctioning. He stumbles a bit, his lips wobbly as he soundlessly mouths the lyrics, the air stuck in his lungs, but at least he does manage to make his way through the choreography.

Someone from the show’s staff is rushing towards him, ready to fix his mic. He shakily hands it over and the staff’s fingers soft drumming against the mic sound like thunder in his ears, leaving them with an unnerving ringing sound. He rips his in-ears out and ignores the perplexed looks he is starting to receive. The lights are too intense, almost scorching. If he could just sit down for a few seconds maybe. Have some water to wash down that weird lump.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks him, a frown etched between his eyebrows. Donghyuck parts his lips, an answer on the tip of his tongue, but he has to swallow again and so he wets his lips and nods.

“I don’t understand what happened. It seems to be working fine,” the staff member says, waving his hand at Donghyuck, “let me check the connections.”

Donghyuck turns around to grant him access to the wireless receiver. He shakes his head a bit but the ringing noise pulsing in his ears doesn’t fade.

“It’s all connected correctly. Nothing is loose or faulty so it should work fine for the next take,” the staff member mutters, “let me help you put it back on and we are good to go.”

Once the headset mic is positioned correctly and his earpiece is secured to his ears, someone hands him a water bottle and he takes a big gulp but the lump does not budge. He clears his throat and takes another swig. The gulping, the pounding of his heart and the ringing piercing his eardrums muffle the cries of the fans that have come to the pre-recording and for a second he feels like he is underwater.

“Let’s get it,” he hears Mark say and so he tries to resurface. He is frozen on the spot though, and he feels more than sees how Taeil takes the bottle away and Jungwoo pulls him to his starting position, a hand tugging his elbow.

This time, however, his body does _not_ automatically follow along the music and, at a change of formation, a body bumps into him making him stagger onto the floor, his hands and knees breaking the fall.

Hands help him up and he feels kind of weightless.

“Hey… Are you alright?” It’s Johnny again. He is blocking Donghyuck from the prying eyes of the fans by standing in front of him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Donghyuck opens his mouth to answer something closer to the truth this time but the words are stuck in his throat.

Johnny is looking at him encouragingly and he can feel the others hovering at his back. He tries again but no sound comes out. He must look stupid, like a fish out of water, with his mouth repeatedly opening and closing. The only vibration that does finally come out is a slight rasp.

The increasing sense of panic must show on his face or maybe it’s the irregularity of his breathing and his burning lungs or maybe his unusual silence but suddenly Johnny’s arm is enclosing his shoulders, quickly pulling him towards the backstage area. Donghyuck is gently pushed down onto a chair. Johnny is crouching in front of him, holding both of his hands, squeezing them, and he is speaking to him but Donghyuck still feels submerged.

This feels awfully like that one summer when he nearly drowned at the beach back home.

“Hyuck, take slow breaths. You’re having a bit of a panic attack but you’re going to be fine. Look at me. Breathe with me.”

After a few minutes of only hearing the pounding of his heart, he can listen to Johnny’s attempts at calming him. Johnny makes him breathe slowly, count to three before exhaling, and he feels like he has been handed an oxygen tank, his breathing finally slowing to an adequate pattern. His throat is still constricted but he manages a tight smile for Johnny. He can’t bring himself to look at the others though. He can feel them hovering around.

“Are you feeling better?” It’s Taeyong, who is leaning forward to look at him in the eyes. Johnny has moved next to Donghyuck, sliding a warm arm around his shoulders, his other hand still holding Donghyuck’s. Donghyuck can feel himself relaxing, leaning against the solid and reassuringly warm body.

He nods.

“They’re moving on to the next group,” Taeyong says. At Donghyuck’s widening eyes, he quickly continues, “but don’t worry. They’re giving us the last slot before they start the dress rehearsal. It’s probably going to be in 20 minutes. Do you think you’ll be ready to go on stage then?” Taeyong asks before biting his lower lip.

Donghyuck opens his mouth —he wants to say yes so badly because familiar feelings of guilt starts rushing through him— but he can’t make his voice come out.

Taeyong is now frowning at him and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Donghyuck snaps his mouth shut, closes his eyes, brows furrowed, and swallows compulsively. His hand comes up to press against his bobbing Adam’s apple, applying light pressure. It’s not working and the panic that has just been pushed at the back of his mind resurfaces.

He looks at Taeyong with prickly eyes and lets go of his throat to point at it. He can see confusion bloom in Taeyong’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Just tell us,” he repeats.

Donghyuck feels how Johnny squeezes the hand he is still holding, giving him some strength, and maybe, maybe his voice will come out if he speaks extra carefully, if he thinks of the breathing techniques he has practiced so much, on projection and the placement of the diaphragm. He stops trying when Taeyong’s face twists in alarm as the only sounds that come from his mouth are wheezes.

“Okay, okay. I got it. Stop… stop talking,” Taeyong runs a hand through his hair, throwing a glance behind him before his eyes lands on Donghyuck again, “I’ll just get a manager. I think Jin-woo-hyung is around.” He ruffles Donghyuck’s hair before adding with a tense smile, “Don’t worry about the show.”

In the end, it’s decided that the group will rehearse without him, Doyoung taking most of his lines, while their manager drives him to the hospital.

 

 

 

After undergoing a few exploratory tests, Donghyuck is back in the waiting room, dreading the déjà-vu sparked by the sterilized smell and white walls. He receives the messages telling him that the rehearsal went fine, that they are getting ready to perform, asking whether he is feeling better.

His impulse is to do a video chat but, right, he can’t speak so he adds an extra dollop of emojis to his responses, that he is glad that it went fine though sorry that he missed it, and that it’s probably nothing so not to worry.

He taps his shoes against the floor, the drumming noise easing his worry, and sighs. It probably _is_ nothing or, at least, probably something silly and he shouldn’t have panicked like he had. After all, it’s not really painful like his leg had been, it’s just… stuck. As if he had swallowed a piece of chewing gum wrong. He wants to chuckle. As if there was a right way to swallow chewing-gum. It’s been a while too, since he gulped one down.

In the end, it is of course not chewing gum, badly swallowed or not, nor any kind of food or drinks for that matter. Not even a cold or an overuse of his voice because of his singing lessons on top of live performances.

“There are no injuries nor mobility issues. It seems that you have what is called psychogenic or functional aphonia,” Doctor Park says slowly. She has a nice soothing tone to her voice. “Sometimes some events that are particularly stressful can cause a momentary acute loss of voice.”

Donghyuck is at loss for words, and almost snorts at the thought that this is actually quite literal. He is wordless, robbed of words, speechless… muted.

Jin-woo-hyung glances at him worriedly before asking, “Stressful events? What kind of events can cause this? Does that mean that he… _can_ actually speak?”

Donghyuck’s eyebrows rise at the implication and he opens his mouth to protest because he really is not doing it on purpose but, of course, only wheezing comes out.

Before frustration takes over Donghyuck, Doctor Park sighs a bit tiredly. “He can technically speak in the sense that his body is fine but, for some reason he cannot control, he is unable to.” She shifts in her seat. “It may be some kind of traumatic event, like an accident or family issues, or maybe, in your case, something related to performing. Donghyuck, can you think of anything?”

Donghyuck tries to remember but nothing comes up. He frowns. He is pretty sure it should be easy to remember, that impactful of an event. He shakes his head back at her. His manager is also at loss as their schedules have actually been going rather smoothly and ends up steering the conversation towards a concrete course of action to solve the problem and, most importantly, the time frame they can expect the recovery to take.

The doctor looks at Donghyuck, smiling gently. She can probably see his nervousness and frustration in the way his fingers fiddle with a stray thread from the sleeve of his sweater. “Don’t worry. There are effective treatments and some patients are able to recover in one or two months. You’ll need to attend voice therapy sessions twice a week and I’d also strongly recommend psychotherapy. Even though there seems to be no triggering event, there might still be psychological factors underlying this condition.”

He can’t stop his fingers from moving, pulling and pulling at the thread, as if he could physically tug at that little something, wedged at the edge of his brain. He cannot yank it out in the open though, like he cannot dislodge whatever jammed itself in his throat. The only result of combing his brain for something — _anything_ — remotely resembling a reason for this muteness is a dull pounding that resonates under his temples. His fingers still and he can only nod back at her and concentrate on the distant sounds of papers being shuffled and on the voices of Jin-woo-hyung and Doctor Park planning his recovery.

 

 

 

They settle into a routine. Donghyuck is off to his sessions whenever they are off to any of the group’s schedule that require a working voice, which is almost all of it truthfully. It feels oddly like the time he broke his legs, without the benefit of spending time at home, or eating his grandmother’s food. He doesn’t really need to rest and he can, after all, learn and rehearse all the dance moves and so it was decided that he would stay at the dorms for the duration of his treatment.

He almost — _almost_ being the operative word here— wants to laugh at that. _The duration of his treatment_. An expression implying that there is some sort of clearly delimited time limit to his voicelessness. But here he is two weeks later, lying in bed, starring at the ceiling while the others are at a radio show.

His progress has been sluggish. He doesn’t quite get why, he is doing his best with the exercises given by his speech therapist, and he is being as cooperative as he can with the other kind of therapy. Well, he reasons, if he can’t remember any particularly triggering events, he can’t exactly magically find one, invent one, just because someone with a notepad is asking him to. The notepad lady is nice though. Doctor Lee No-eul. He can’t even be angry at her for the lack of improvement. If he had met her in any other context, he would have loved to have her as a noona. She has eyes filled with warmth and empathy, and she pays attention to everything he can think of telling, well, writing to her. Even those stupid fights he had with Mark when they were fifteen.

He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to trace all the events of the days leading to his current predicament. It’s not the first time he goes over the days, hours, minutes, seconds in his mind. It’s also probably not the last but maybe at some point he will come up with some kind of clue, something he has overlooked.

There had been recording sessions for different units, dance rehearsals of the new title track with NCT127 for the upcoming shows, an unexpected interview and its accompanying photoshoot with Chenle and Winwin, and he had been practicing with Taeil-hyung to release a song cover and… nothing really. Nothing out of ordinary.

The door to his room creaks open and he props his head up to see Mark entering with an inquisitive, hopeful look, a probing look that has become a daily recurrence. Donghyuck lets his head plop back down on the pillow and brings his arm across his eyes, not wanting to see the look of disappointment on Mark’s face when he realizes Donghyuck’s stagnancy.

It’s neither of their faults but he feels guilty for yet again not being able to pull his weight and, at the same time, annoyed at Mark for reminding him of it every time he looks at him with, like, those eyes full of… _pity_. He squeezes his eyes shut when the bed dips down, feeling the warmth of Mark’s thigh brushing against his. And then something hard lends —slaps!?— onto his chest.

He sits up, pushing the offending object away, a _what the fuck hyung_ on the tip of his tongue though he is pretty sure that his murdering gaze conveys his feelings perfectly.

“I brought you a white board so you can, you know, stop killing trees and whole forests every time you want to make a joke.” Mark’s smile crinkles his eyes though not completely, as he keeps an eye open on Donghyuck’s closed fists.

It’s indeed a white board, with its black marker, on which a tiny eraser is attached. On the board, quickly scribbled in Mark’s handwriting, there is a message signed by the members and their managers, complete with a small drawing of a sun.

_Get well soon, Haechan._

It’s cheesy and Donghyuck has actually been using his phone a fair amount to communicate but whatever. He loves it and lunges forward to hug Mark, squishing the board between them and probably erasing part of the message. The corner of the frame digs into his stomach and he releases Mark quickly. He wants to write on it but, before that, he pulls his phone out and takes a picture, which he sends to their group chat with a thank you. He will also send it later to his mom, when he is alone and has time to chat with her for a while.

Finally, he erases it carefully and writes a message for Mark, who has been patiently waiting, a fond smile on his lips.

_I’ll be able to make fun of u more easily now_

Mark chuckles. “I guess,” he looks at his hands that are playing with the phone he is holding in his lap, “I miss your voice though.”

The unexpected downturn of Mark’s lips weights on Donghyuck’s chest and he has to look back at the board, slowly erasing his sentence. He suddenly feels Mark’s warm hand on his thigh and looks up. Mark is staring at him, as if trying to untangle what Donghyuck is unable to.

“You know you can tell me anything. Really _anything_. I’m not kidding.”

Donghyuck knows Mark means well —they all mean well— but he doesn’t like the way Mark inflects the word _anything_. Because Donghyuck has nothing to tell and he feels like they think he is doing it on purpose, well maybe not on purpose, but like he is being stubbornly silent, silent on the issue that is supposed to plague him. Because it’s all in his head after all, isn’t it?

He has to look away but the silence has taken an uncharacteristic weight and he knows Mark is waiting for _something_. The pressure on his chest is back. He sighs and scrunches his lips to the side, thinking of what to write. Words keep eluding him.

_I don’t kn—_

The marker hangs in the air for a second because… doesn’t he? He erases the beginning of the sentence before he looks at Mark, whose eyes are open wide, trustworthy, almost innocent, and he feels like he is 14 years old and confiding puerile secrets to his newly acquired best friend. He sighs again. At this rate, he is going to deflate completely before recovering his voice.

_Sometimes I think it’s all in my head and if I wanted to I could just speak_

Mark reads the sentence once, twice, thrice. Donghyuck can see how his eyes repeatedly go over the handwritten letters. He can see confusion on his face and then he is looking back at Donghyuck, squeezing his thigh.

“It is probably in your head,” Donghyuck’s heart freezes in his chest but Mark continues, “that does not mean it’s not real or that it’s your fault.”

Relief floods Donghyuck, heating up his cheeks, and he hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to hear those words coming from this particular person until they reached his ears. Tears collect in his eyes and he has to bite the inside of his lip to keep them at bay, his right hand flying up, loosely covering his face.

“Oh, Hyuck...”

This time it’s Mark who surges forward to embrace Donghyuck, the board falling to the side on the bed. Donghyuck sinks into the hug, clasping his arms around Mark, his eyes so tightly shut that a tear or two, or rather a sea of them to be honest, spill over and soak Mark’s t-shirt.

“Don’t worry. This is going to pass. Everything does eventually,” Mark says softly, tightening his grip, and Donghyuck, his head against Mark’s chest, can’t help but envy the way Mark’s voice vibrates under his ear, at once soothing and infuriating in its existence.

Donghyuck feels an inextricable sadness he doesn’t remember ever experiencing before. It bubbles up in his chest and he can only sigh to let it out, smothering it in the soft fabric.

 

 

 

Donghyuck wishes he had pointed out the clichéd nature of Mark’s consoling words. It doesn’t really pass at all. It gets even a bit worse, when he starts choking on food. He doesn’t panic at first because he was told that it’s another common symptom of his condition —it makes sense, what with his throat feeling blocked all the time— but when it increases in frequency and he catches worried glances thrown at him, when he starts to resent and avoid _food_ —the one constant good thing in his life that has never betrayed him except for that one time he had food poisoning— the sadness surges, swallowing him bit by bit.

Doctor Park and his therapists are seemingly perplexed by his lack of progress. Donghyuck himself is perplexed. There is an overall atmosphere of confusion and it's starting to pull him down, this unknown, confusing state of things, because it’s difficult to work hard at becoming better when you don’t really know what exactly you are supposed to fix. It doesn’t help that the fans are growing impatient. He has seen a few comments —something about him faking, about being an attention-whore or something— before quickly closing the tab he had stumbled upon.

He stares at his mouth in the mirror of one of SM’s bathrooms. He opens it wide to look at the back of his throat, as if he could stare down at his defiant vocal folds to rein them in.

He snaps his mouth shut when he hears the door open, before quickly splashing water on his face. When he comes back up, he sees a familiar face reflected in the mirror. One he can’t quite place. The man, rather handsome, in his late thirties, smiles at him before steering towards the urinals.

Donghyuck quickly bows and exits, a shiver running down his back. He is all sweaty from practice, his t-shirt plastering itself to his torso. He quickens his pace, the five-minute break Dreamies have been given is ending and he doesn’t want to be the last one ready.

“Hyuuuung,” he hears before being hugged by Chenle as he steps in the room. “Help me practice.”

Donghyuck mimes a drinking motion and points to his water bottle resting on the floor next to Jaemin, who is sitting against the mirror and talking animatedly to Jeno and Renjun.

“You can practice with me,” Jisung calls out from the centre of the room.

Chenle unsticks himself from Donghyuck in the process causing Donghyuck’s t-shirt to shift. The clamminess of it as it slides against his skin makes him shiver again.

Chenle and Jisung’s shoes are thumping against the floor as they hit the steps. Jeno and Renjun are chuckling at Jaemin’s story but Donghyuck is not really listening.

He is about to drink, the rim of the bottle already resting on his lower lip, when his throat closes up a bit. He tilts the bottle anyway because the water might help, he figures. He is unable to gulp though. The water spills everywhere and he can barely breathe. He drops the bottle, its contents flooding him and the floor. He coughs and coughs and through watery eyes he sees Chenle’s worried eyes, and through ringing ears, Renjun’s worried voice mixing with Jaemin’s.

Maybe the attention is a tad overwhelming. It might explain why he flinches when Jeno tries to soothe his cough by rubbing circles on his back.

It doesn’t quite explain why he feels the inexorable compulsion to slap his hand away. There is a startled silence, broken by a few more of his racking coughs. As they finally subside, Donghyuck realizes what he has done and grabs Jeno’s hand, mouthing an apology.

“Ah, it’s fine, Haechannie.” Jeno squeezes his hand before letting it go. “You should probably sit the rest of the practice out.”

Donghyuck frowns but lets Renjun push him back and then down until he is sliding against the mirror to rest on the floor, leaving a wet trail on the reflective surface. He looks at the mess he's made. His t-shirt is now really drenched. There’s still some water spilling from the fallen bottle, the slow, dripping stream joining the puddle that inundates the floor.

Someone might slip on it and fall, he thinks and he tries to get up to fix it but he is pushed back down by Jaemin,  who presses his spare t-shirt as well as Donghyuck’s hoodie against his shaky hands.

“Just get changed. We’ll mop it up.”

Donghyuck can only nod and swaps clothes, feeling slightly better when the stickiness is replaced by the cosiness of Jaemin’s dry t-shirt and his own hoodie. Once he is done, Renjun sits down next to him and softly pats his head. Donghyuck leans into him while he watches Jisung dry the floor with a towel. He sighs but then he feels Renjun’s shoulder knocking into his and he has to look away from Jisung, gaze falling into Renjun’s worried one. Donghyuck offers him a small smile in exchange, before he lets his head fall onto the crook of Renjun’s neck.

Ultimately, he _is_ fine so when the rehearsal starts again, he pushes himself up and, despite the protests (a quick glare shuts them up), he takes his position. There is no reason he can’t dance after all. _One two three and four._

Since no one can find what is wrong with him, he _has to_ be fine. He can do this, at least.

 

 

 

That night he dreams of drowning, hands that push him down, down, down and a disgusting dampness that fills his lungs and takes away his voice.

 

 


	2. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donghyuck is fine but then maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. I don't think the events that unfold in this chapter are surprising but I apologize in advance if they upset anyone. Be sure to check the (updated) tags before you read this chapter. The non-con elements are quite explicit (though not gratuitous). There's some sweet comfort though, to preventively balance it out a bit.
> 
> I'm also messing up with the timeline a bit as I'm referring to the photoshoot of the ARENA Magazine of September 2018 (which kind of inspired this... wtf were those pictures?) though the story is set in an alternative time post-leg injury so Donghyuck is actually of age during this mess. Sorry if it's a bit confusing.
> 
> It's also still un-betaed. Any volunteers for the next chapter (which is probably the hardest to write)? Also, yep, incredibly nervous about this chapter, so be nice, maybe?

_down, down, do—_

Donghyuck wakes up with a start in the middle of the night. The t-shirt he uses as pyjamas is sticking to his back and his breath is laboured as if he has run a marathon. He can recall the slimy sensation of salty liquid filling his lungs. Albeit vague, the memory of it makes him rush to the bathroom, a hand clasped against his mouth, until he is kneeling down, clutching the cold white ceramic.

He throws up. It’s only bile, his last meal long digested. It still makes him feel dizzy but somehow, he realizes as the nausea wanes, it also makes him feel weirdly _lighter_. He swallows a few times and the acidic taste at the back of his throat seems to partially dislodge the lump.

He stands up on wobbly legs to look at his mouth in the mirror hanging above the sink. Still staring at his own lips, he tries one of the exercises from his speech therapy and almost manages to startle himself when actual sounds —actual monosyllabic _words_ — come out.

He can’t stop his lips from stretching into a wide smile, their corners almost hurting. The sheer joy is short-lived, however, as fear claws its way from his stomach to the base of his throat. He swallows. His voice seemingly disappeared out of the blue after all. How long will this sudden recovery last?

He cautiously repeats the exercises and his voice comes out slightly steadier each time, calming his anxiety somewhat.

A knock on the door cuts through the word he is painstakingly forming, ending it in a startled exhale.

“Hyuck? Is that you?”

It’s Mark. His voice is still clogged with sleep though Donghyuck can detect a dash of confusion mixed with a now familiar hope. Warmth and excitement spread through him at the thought of transforming the hope in a tangible reality.

He splashes some cold water on his face and runs his trembling fingers through his dishevelled hair in an attempt at composing himself. He wills himself calm, taking slow breaths, a hand on the doorknob. He hesitates for one more second before quickly turning it open to reveal a wide-eyed, glass-wearing, pyjamas-clad Mark.

He smiles at Mark and croaks out, “Hyung.”

Mark blinks, once, twice, and Donghyuck is engulfed in a tight hug.

“Say it again.”

There are so many emotions in Mark’s voice that it’s almost overwhelming. Donghyuck leans in the embrace, pressing his smile into Mark’s shoulder before stepping back, still grinning.

“Mark.”

Mark sighs —but it’s more amused than annoyed— and pinches one of his cheeks. “Cheeky.”

“No I’m ju—” Donghyuck starts to cough, his hand flying reflexively to his throat.

“Ah, ah, don’t force it,” Mark says worryingly. His hand is warm on Donghyuck’s nape, rubbing a soothing pattern on the exposed skin. “Sorry. I got too excited. It’s the effect of hearing your sweet voice again, I guess.”

There's a weird twist in Donghyuck’s stomach as he hears this combination of words. He shies away from the touch.

Once the coughing abates, he recognizes that it isn’t the usual feeling of second-hand embarrassment caused by Mark’s cheesiness nor the shyness that comes with compliments that has invaded him but a colder sensation, akin to dread.

His voice feels already frailer than when he was alone. He still manages a small _It’s fine._

“What do you want to do? It’s only three in the morning. Do you want to go back to bed? Or should we wake up everyone with the good news?”

Donghyuck can’t help but smile, the clench in his abdomen lessening, at Mark’s barely suppressed giggles that punctuate his last sentence. The exhilaration of finding his voice has worn him down, however, so after a few seconds of deliberation he picks the first option.

As they are about to part ways, Donghyuck’s hand on the door handle of the room he shares with Jaehyun, he is reminded of the reason he woke up by the clamminess of his t-shirt against his back.

“Mark-hyung,” he whispers. Mark pauses in front of his room, door already slightly ajar.

“Yeah?”

There's a beat of silence before Donghyuck manages to answer.

“Ah, nothing.”

He can still feel the warm imprint of Mark’s joyful embrace, the relief etched on his face as he realized Donghyuck had used his voice. Despite the dim light, he can now also see the gentle curve of Mark’s smile. He’s in no rush to make it disappear into a frown.

It was just a weird nightmare, a coincidental succession of events; correlation is no causation. Who knows what the actual reason for his voice to have come back is, in the same way that no one has been able to tell him why it disappeared in the first place.

“Sleep well,” Donghyuck murmurs and as Mark says it back, he steps into his room.

T-shirt changed and body tucked under his blanket, Donghyuck falls asleep at the sound of his own voice, fingers held loosely against his throat feeling the soft vibration of his humming.

 

 

 

The good news gets announced over breakfast. Donghyuck can’t help beaming at the astonished faces of the older members as he utters a raspy _Good morning hyungs_ when sitting down.

There’s a flurry of movements —a coffee nearly spilt, hugs, hair ruffled, and pats on the back— as well as questions. Donghyuck feels his smile slip a little at the most obvious one, which is repeated by Taeyong once they have all settled back at the table.

“How did it come back?”

Donghyuck shrugs but the way he avoids Taeyong’s gaze by playing around with his breakfast doesn’t go unnoticed.

Questioning looks not disappearing, Donghyuck can only force out a vague answer. “I don’t know… just suddenly like… like when it went away.”

Donghyuck looks up and he sees how a few of them don’t really look convinced. He feels like a liar all over again.

It’s short-lived as Johnny pinches his cheek, a wide smile on his face. “Welcome back, Haechan.”

Donghyuck smiles back before shoving a spoonful of rice in his mouth. After all, one shouldn’t talk with their mouth full.

 

 

 

Suddenly, voice therapy gets better. He progresses fast, and he is able to speak smoothly in a record time. There's still one major problem, however.

He can’t really _sing_.

Everyone is once again perplexed. No one complains but he still feels it, their impatience that verges on exasperation.

His psychiatrist becomes convinced his voice issues are related to performance. Well, he guesses that it’s a logical conclusion since he can kind of sing whenever he’s alone. It’s only when he feels the weight of others’ eyes on him that he chokes up and his sweet voice is no longer so sweet.

He isn’t quite sure what to think, though, because he loves performing and there have literally been _zero_ incidents that have been able to ruin the rush it used to bring him, that performing choreographies still does bring him. This intense sensation of living in the moment, under warm lights, connecting with the others and the audience.

No one really knows that he can technically sing. It’s been contained to the managers, his therapists and himself. He hasn’t had the courage to explain it without feeling like he is those words he read online, like he is _faking_ it or being an _attention-whore_. Regardless of how he rearranges the words in his mind, there are no explanations that would make any of this logical.

 

 

 

He still practices by himself whenever he can, which he’s easily able to do for a few weeks when the others are out on schedules he cannot go to, so it catches him totally by surprise when one morning Mark stumbles into his practice.

“Hyuck!” Mark grabs both of Donghyuck’s forearms, smiling brightly, “You can sing!”

It’s like a repeat scene from the 3am bathroom one, without the knocking nor the shared joy of discovery, and so this time Donghyuck’s throat closes. He feels a surge of guilt overrun him as he watches Mark take in the notes Donghyuck’s been scribbling on the musical sheets spread around him, his phone lighting up with the red light signalling that it’s recording.

He can read Mark’s face clearly as he moves from happiness to a confusion that threatens to turn into anger.

“Why— what are you recording? How?” At Donghyuck’s silence, he continues, voice dripping with disappointment, hands tightening around Donghyuck. “Since when?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I… I can’t sing in front of anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Mark’s eyes are pleading at the same time that his voice takes a rougher quality. “But I just heard you sing.”

Mark’s fingers are starting to dig painfully in his forearms. Donghyuck forces himself to stay still. He is the one who lied after all.

“I don’t really know. I feel fine when I’m alone but when I have an audience I just… It just… nothing comes out.”

Anger seems to leave Mark and he lets go of Donghyuck’s arms. “You could have told me. You _should_ have told me. You should have…. wanted to tell me.”

Donghyuck finds himself taking a step back and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, I didn’t want you to worry. It’s just so weird and it doesn’t make sense and how can you not think that I’m lying?” He’s choking up. That’s precisely why he didn’t want to explain in the first place.

“Didn’t I… Aren’t we—” Mark rubs his face in frustration. He sighs. “Are you hiding something more?”

Donghyuck bits his lips, willing the anxiety that lies dormant at the back of his mind, threatening to engulf him, to go away. “No, I’m not.”

And he is not, not really, even if it feels like he is lying. There have been a few more nightmares, some more queasiness that caused him to hurriedly empty the contents of his stomach, but somehow those dreams that feel so life-like while they happen in his sleep remain outside of his vocabulary when he is awake. It’s almost ironic how he still feels very much like he is wordless.

“Promise? You would tell me if there was something more?” Mark almost begs, worry furrowing his brow. Donghyuck nods and reaches for Mark’s hand.

He squeezes it as he answers quietly. “Yeah, I promise.”

 

 

 

Mark has forgiven him but Donghyuck can feel some distance, a strained tension between them. To be honest, there's a strange atmosphere at the dorms in general. He can’t help but think that Mark probably blabbed his mouth to Taeyong, not because he’s a busybody but probably out of worry or something. This means that the hyungs know. No one has said a word yet but Yuta and Doyoung are seemingly avoiding him while Taeil and Johnny have redoubled on the hugs.

Donghyuck almost throws at Mark the towel he asked for at the beginning of the break at their dance practice, feeling a tiny bit angry at him, though he knows it’s really his own fault for hiding stuff in the first place.

He stops himself from doing it. Maybe he’s being paranoid and imagining everything and Mark hasn’t said anything to anyone; Yuta and Doyoung are just busier, and Taeil and Johnny might be in the mood for more affection or something.

Instead of hurling the towel, he lays it on top of Mark’s face, who is lying on his back, eyes closed, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the floor. “Here you go.”

Mark mumbles an answer, but the sound is trapped under the fabric. It might have been a thank you.

Donghyuck sits next to him with a sigh. He feels the anger gradually drain away from his body when Mark peaks at him from under the towel. “Thanks for the towel.” He’s wiping himself with it as he sits up. Now might be a good time like any to ask.

“Hyung.”

Mark looks up at the serious tone, placing the towel over his shoulders. “What is it?”

“Have you told anyone?”

“About?”

“You know… the singing.”

Mark shakes his head. “I haven’t.”

Donghyuck’s body finally relaxes onto the floor, sliding until he ends up lying down, gaze directed at the white ceiling. Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see Mark shifting, fingers tapping on the floor. “But I probably will if you don’t do it soon,” he continues.

Donghyuck tenses but is given no time to answer as Johnny shouts. “It’s selfie time!”

“When is it not?” grumbles Doyoung before he sits next to Johnny, whose phone is raised in the air, selfie-mode on. Behind them, Taeil is sandwiched between Jaehyun and Taeyong.

A hand closes around Donghyuck’s right ankle and, before he can react, he is being dragged across the floor by a smiling Jungwoo, who only stops when he is close enough to drop Donghyuck’s foot onto Doyoung’s lap. The latter complains about the smelly shoe so Donghyuck _has_ to add his second foot and ends up leaning against Jungwoo, Mark somewhere behind him, next to Yuta and Sicheng.

“Smile!”

Bright light flashes into Donghyuck’s eyes and he shuts them tightly. Johnny has accidentally used the camera flash, and while Yuta groans jokingly about becoming blind, Donghyuck feels dizzy, nausea rising.

Amongst laughter pictures are taken but he doesn’t want to open his eyes again as white spots are still dancing behind his eyelids.

Fingers poke at his side in an unsuccessful attempt at tickling, which shouldn’t come as a surprise as tickle fights have drastically increased since his voice came back, the others going on about having missed his bright laugher or something equally sappy. Still, the fingers against his skin only makes him shudder in disgust, nausea rising again at the external touch, and he rolls away from Jungwoo and Doyoung.

Kneeling on the floor, his legs folded underneath his thighs, he hunches over and slaps a hand on his mouth to placate the sudden bout of dry heaving.

He doesn’t hear Doyoung approaching. The hand on his shoulder startles him and he jerks away from him, holding up the palm of his hand that isn’t trying to keep his retching under wraps in his general direction.

His body has inexplicably defaulted to a flight or fight response, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He concentrates on his breathing, trying to ignore the heavy weight of their worried gazes and contain the revulsion that has overwhelmed him. The seconds seem to drag as it takes a few minutes for his nausea to finally recede.

Once it doesn’t seem like he’s going to vomit all over the place, he lets his hands drop to the floor. He doesn’t dare to raise his head though, but he knows they’ve stood up and are waiting for him to let them help. Help with what? He’s not sure. The silence stretches as he searches for a sensible explanation to give, something like a stomach bug, for this random freak-out.

“Haechannie?” Doyoung steps closer as if moving towards an injured animal that is ready to bite or flee. Frustration fills Donghyuck and he rubs his face, pushing his hair back as he lifts his gaze to meet Doyoung’s.

“I’m fine.” It should be the title of their next main track, with how many times he’s repeated those words.

Doyoung must feel its overuse as well because he sighs. “Right. You’re _fine_.” He frowns, weariness seeping into his voice. “Do you mind telling us your definition of _fine_ then.”

“Doyoung. Don’t—” Taeil steps forward but Doyoung looks like he’s made up his mind.

“Donghyuck, can you or can you not tell us what’s wrong?” At Donghyuck’s silence, Doyoung continues. “Well, let me call Jin-woo-hyung and he’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Donghyuck’s mind fills with white walls, uncomfortable plastic chairs, patronising smiles, and questionnaires.

“Hyung, I’m fine. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something.”

“Or something,” Doyoung repeats, an eyebrow lifted.

“Well, yeah, I’ll just go wash my face, drink a bit of water. Let’s not interrupt practice much longer,” he replies as he stands up and moves towards the door. His voice doesn’t waver and it must be convincing enough that Doyoung looks like he’ll let it slide, but out of the corner of his eyes he can see Mark’s internal struggle plainly written on his face.

 _Oh no. The idiot._ Donghyuck sends him the most threatening glare he can muster but it’s not enough because Mark opens his mouth. “Actually, Haechan, you should—”

“Hyung, just don’t,” Donghyuck cuts him off.

“Don’t what?” Doyoung asks. “Are you both hiding something?”

Donghyuck bits his lower lip, guilt invading him once again, and Mark seems to hesitate, glancing at Donghyuck almost as if asking for permission to talk.

The awkward silence is broken as Chenle enters the room, happily greeting them. He hesitates at the door. “Am I interrupting? I couldn’t hear music so I thought you were on a break.”

“It’s fine. We are on a break.” Donghyuck forces a small smile. “I was just going out for a bit.”

Chenle’s grin is back on his face. “Hyuuung, our photoshoot has been published. They dropped some copies for us.” He brings his arms up to show a few copies of the latest issue of the Arena magazine.

Sicheng lets out an excited sound. “Oh! Let me see.”

The copies are passed around.

Chenle envelops Donghyuck in a back-hug, chin on his shoulder and directing him towards the pages of the photoshoot that features the unlikely trio of himself, Sicheng and Donghyuck. Mark is at Donghyuck’s side, slightly bumping his shoulder against his but Donghyuck keeps his eyes on the glossy pages.

“Why the pantry?” Johnny asks pointing at Sicheng’s solo pictures. Yuta grabs the magazine from Johnny to look closely at them.

 “Winwin looks so fierce… in spite of the corn flakes and cheerios.”

“Yeah, what was the concept? Were the cereal boxes empty?” Johnny grabs the magazine back.

“An American dinner and I’ve no idea,” Sicheng replies, shrugging.

“Chenle’s sooo cute.” Taeyong coos.

“Thaanks!” Chenle shouts in reply and Donghyuck whines at the loud noise right next to his ear. Chenle squeezes him in apology.

“Haechan, what were you doing sprawled on the floor?” Jaehyun asks.

“That’s quite the sexy pose,” Mark mutters.

“Well, duh, I’m naturally sexy,” Donghyuck answers. The shots are nice. He likes the way his jaw looks sharp, his skin golden, and his lips plump.

“Still, that’s a weird angle,” Mark says, brushing his shoulder against Donghyuck’s once again.

“It is,” Doyoung concurs.

Donghyuck looks up at the comment to respond that _it’s not that weird really_ but the sharp look that Doyoung shoots him makes him drop his gaze back down. He examines the pictures again.

The downward angle of the pictures and the way his hands are positioned —one picture has him with his left thumb in-between his teeth while in the other, both of his hands are grabbing the handles of the cupboards— do make him seem sexy in a quite vulnerable way and, yeah, only his solo set has this vibe but it’s not _that_ odd, is it? It’s not the first time he’s done a sexy concept.

The longer he stares at himself, the stranger he feels however, feeling inexplicably exposed. He frowns as his hands start to feel clammy and his uneasiness rapidly grows, so much so that the back of his throat feels sticky again and can’t get the words out. He doesn’t hear the remarks of the other members on his pictures, their voices muffled by the sound of his quickening heartbeat.

Today is definitely an off day.

He untangles himself from Chenle, pushing the magazine into his hands despite his protesting pout. “Hyung?”

“I’ll be back in a sec.” One hand on his chest, gaze lowered, he grabs a towel from the floor and runs out of the practice room before anyone can stop him.

 

 

 

Alone in one of SM’s bathrooms, he washes his face, trying to shake the weird feeling that has settled all over his body. The splashing water covers the noise of the door opening and it’s only when he looks up to dry his face on the towel —Mark’s, _ugh, gross_ , he must have grabbed it by accident— that he is startled to find someone looking right at him, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

It feels like a déjà-vu. It’s that handsome man he barely greeted a few weeks ago. His eyes fall on the magazine clutched in his hands. It’s the latest Arena one. Oh, yeah. He remembers now. It’s the photographer. He doesn’t quite remember his name. Maybe Seo Dong-won or was it Seo Dong-jae?

Donghyuck turns to bow down in greeting “Good mor—” when the magazine falls on the floor and he finds himself trapped between two arms. The man’s hands have come to rest on the sink behind Donghyuck. Donghyuck has to tilt his head up to look at him, the droplets of water that run down his face making him shiver, heart thudding in his chest. He could dodge down, escape, but he is pinned in place by the abruptness of the situation and the intensity of the man’s stare.

“I heard your voice is back.”

Confused, Donghyuck shifts, arching backwards to put more space between them.

“I… yes. I have to go.. Can you…” Donghyuck makes a shooing motion with his hands, the sink digging into his lower back.

It’s the wrong move as the man grabs his wrists to hold them down against the edge of the sink, which digs into them.

“No, not when I have you right where I want to.” He leans to whisper in his ear and the sensation of warm breath against Donghyuck’s ear shell is so repulsive that the adrenaline kicks in and Donghyuck manages to free his hands and shove him off.

“Get off me. What are you doing?”

“You’re feistier today.” The man moves to stand in front of the door, blocking the only exit.

Donghyuck is busy running through his options, which amount to kicking, running or shouting, when the words register in his brain.

“ _Today?_ What do you mean?”

“Ah, don’t be coy. You were such a good boy.”

His skin crawls at the implication. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot all the fun we had last time.”

He approaches him and Donghyuck is blinking rapidly, his mind suddenly going blank as he feels a headache incoming. He can’t stop the man from grabbing his chin and crowding him until he’s cornered against the cold wall opposite the door.

“Don’t worry. I can make you remember,” and his hand trails down his chest but before it can go much lower, the door opens and Donghyuck takes advantage of the distraction to shove him away more forcefully. The man stumbles back and Donghyuck vaguely sees as Doyoung freezes in the doorway, his eyes widening in shock.

“What’s happening here?”

The man doesn’t say anything. He throws a last look at Donghyuck and silently brushes past Doyoung on his way out.

“Hey!” Doyoung goes to grab the man, following him outside. “Hey stop!”

Donghyuck’s heart is still pounding, his throat completely dry, headache pulsating behind his eyes. His legs buckle under him and he slides down the wall. “Hyung.” It comes out as a whisper but it’s loud enough for Doyoung to pause and look back at him, brows furrowed. It’s also enough for the man’s fleeing footsteps to fade.

“Haechan, wait, I’ll just—”

“Don’t. It’s nothing,” Donghyuck lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing, his hand coming up to rest on his chest. He draws a breath in and slowly exhales, willing his heart rate to slow down. Exhaustion overtakes him as the adrenaline leaves his body, replaced by the relief that the man’s departure and his hyung presence provide.

“It’s obviously _not_ nothing,” Doyoung growls, but he isn’t moving, probably torn between leaving him alone and confronting the man.

“Stay with me for a few minutes and let’s get back to practice,” Donghyuck pleads.

“Haechan…”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hae—"

“It’s fucking _nothing_ just drop it!” Donghyuck immediately wants to apologize for swearing and raising his voice but he doesn’t. His throat feels raspy from the outburst; his mind is a tangled mess, unable to process the events of the past minutes. Instead, he pries his eyes open and forces himself to look straight into Doyoung’s unsteady gaze. “Please. I’m fine.”

It’s probably —definitely— the wrong word to use as Doyoung presses his lips into a straight line.

“Hyung, I...”

Donghyuck doesn’t really know how to finish the sentence but it’s not needed as Doyoung nods once and utters a quiet _alright._

He settles down next to Donghyuck, leaving a small space between them and raises his hand, palm up, towards Donghyuck. Donghyuck blinks at the offered hand before lifting his own to meet it. Doyoung closes his hand around Donghyuck’s and carefully brings them down to his lap, where his other hand is already resting. His skin is comfortingly warm and soft against Donghyuck’s clammy hand. Donghyuck sighs and relaxes his body against Doyoung’s side.

“Don’t think I’m letting this slide.” The pads of Doyoung’s fingers are running gently over Donghyuck’s knuckles and the lines of his palm. “You’ve got to talk, Haechannie.”

Donghyuck nods against his shoulder, his eyes closing once again, though this time against his will, his eyelids dragged down by tiredness. “Later?”

“Later,” Doyoung agrees.

 

 

 

Donghyuck doesn’t really want this _later_ to materialize. He avoids his own thoughts entirely by focusing on their activities, while also evading Doyoung and Mark for the rest of the day, both of which are admittedly surprisingly easy with how busy he is, what with the preparations for the next NCT127 album and the activities scheduled with Dream.

 

 

 

It's at night that his thoughts catch up to him. He dreams of arms that grab him from behind but that are too big to be Chenle’s, arms that tighten painfully around his torso. Of the weight of a man pinning him against a wall, his forehead being pushed against cold tiles. Of a hand pressed against his mouth while another roams up and down his chest, stopping only to slip under his track pants, under his underwear. Of a rough hand that jerks him off while a tongue leaves a moist trail on his neck.

As he tenses further, unwillingly nearing climax, the hand falls from his mouth and a humid breath brushes against his ear, “Moan for me. With your sweet voice.”

Only harsh pants come out of his lips, however, when he comes.

The hand leaves his pants and he is yanked around, tersely pushed against and down the wall until he’s on his knees. He looks up at the sound of a fly zipped open and it’s that man, it's the photographer.

The hands are back on him, one of them tightening on his hair while the other goes to pinch his nose. As he reflexively opens his mouth to gasp for air, the man shoves himself in, deep, repeatedly, choking him until his head buzzes from the lack of oxygen. His eyes fall shut, their corners stinging with tears. His hands reach blindly in front of him, searching for purchase, only finding the man’s slacks to clutch.

The grip on his hair abruptly tightens, tipping his head back until it knocks against the hard tiles behind him. A deep groan resounds, salty liquid hitting the back of his throat. It coats one corner of his lips as the man slides out.

The hold on his hair finally loosens, the man stepping back, and he finds himself tilting forward, his hands dropping to the floor to break his fall. He can feel saliva mixed with come drip from his mouth as he alternates between gagging and heaving in deep breaths.

Having regained control of his lungs, he quickly looks up but fingers against his forehead shove him backwards and then down until he’s against the wall again, half-sitting, half-lying.

Too dazed to move, eyes half-opened, he can only observe how the man brings his phone out of his back pocket.

“Good boy. Now smile.”

The bright burst of light blinds him.

 

 

 

Donghyuck wakes up sweaty and face full of tears, voice hoarse, Jaehyun’s hand on his shoulder. He flinches away in spite of the gentle voice and eyes asking him what’s wrong.

And as reality downs on him, as he puts the pieces of the puzzle together, he realizes that he has words now to put on the infamous hypothetical traumatic incident, he could —he can— technically answer Jaehyun's question, put words to what’s wrong with him. Something did happen to him. Someone did do something to him.

He really doesn’t want to though. He really doesn’t want to voice that at all.

“Just a nightmare, hyung,” he croaks out. “I’m fine.”


	3. Good boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything slowly unravels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It comes to an end. Beware of some victim blaming/shaming (because that's how rl is, sadly) and a bit of violence. There's lots of comfort though, maybe too much, idk. Also, feel free to come say hi on [twt](https://twitter.com/foolforcolours). Still un-betaed. Gently worded concrit welcome.

Donghyuck can’t fall back asleep; he doesn’t want to fall back asleep but he’s stuck pretending that he has until he can hear Jaehyun’s breathing slow down into a gentle rhythmic pattern. He waits for a few more minutes, just to make sure, before he grabs his phone and hooks up his earphones to play a few games. He forces himself to concentrate on the pixels but his brain keeps trying to replay his nightmare.

Because that’s what it was, just a nightmare.

Yes, he had that weird as hell encounter the day before but that doesn’t mean what he dreamt is real. It might just have been a messed-up way for his mind to deal with what happened then.

It’s 9.27am when he hears Jaehyun toss and turn in his bed. He quickly shoves his phone under his pillow and curls himself under the blanket, facing the wall. He doesn’t want to get up just yet, which is alright because his day is free of schedules anyway.

He listens to Jaehyun get out of the bed. He feels his gaze on the back of his head and concentrates on regulating his breathing. He must be convincing enough because Jaehyun shuffles around as quietly as possible, probably grabbing a change of clothes, and leaves.

Donghyuck burrows himself deeper under the blanket. His head is pounding and he doesn’t feel like playing games anymore. Actually, he doesn’t want to do anything really, yet keeping himself busy is probably the only way he’ll be able to silence the thoughts that swirl in his mind. He suddenly wishes he actually had activities programmed even though he has barely had any sleep.

Maybe he could catch up on tv, binge-watch a series he’s been meaning to see like that zombie one, set in medieval Joseon.

That’s what he does for a few hours, leaning against the headboard, his laptop sitting on his lap. The volume is high enough to drown his thoughts, which is why he doesn’t hear the knock on the door and he’s startled by Doyoung’s head peeking through the door.

“Can I come in?”

Donghyuck pauses the episode and nods.

“Hey, it’s noon already,” Doyoung says while perching himself on the edge of the bed. “You hungry?”

Donghyuck realizes he’s indeed hungry so he nods again. He had meant to grab something for breakfast at some point but that would have meant leaving the safety of his room.

“Great because I’m treating you to lunch today,” Doyoung declares and his tone doesn’t leave much room for discussion. There’s no way he’ll avoid this. He might as well make the most of it.

“Then I want grilled pork belly, hyung,” he replies, stretching his lips into a grin.

 

 

 

Doyoung has picked a quiet barbecue restaurant, not that popular but with food that’s still really delicious. Donghyuck is eating with gusto and they are talking about trivial things, about games and songs they’ve recently discovered, sharing recommendations, so he almost forgets why they’re there in the first place. It’s only when he rolls up his sleeves due to the heat of the grill that he’s reminded of it.

“So I…” Doyoung drifts off, gaze fixed on Donghyuck’s wrists. “Are those bruises?”

Donghyuck looks down. His wrists have bluish marks from when they were trapped against the sink. He quickly rolls his sleeves back down though he knows it’s useless. He gulps down the morsel he was chewing on at the same time that dread settles into his stomach.

“Are they from— Was it— was it that man?” Doyoung cautiously asks.

Donghyuck hesitates for half a second too long.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Doyoung leans forward, brow wrinkled in worry. “What happened exactly?”

Donghyuck shrugs, “Nothing really.” At Doyoung’s raised eyebrow, he continues, “He asked about my voice coming back and implied some stupid stuff.”

“What stupid stuff? And what about those bruises?” Doyoung presses on.

“He might, like, have held me a bit too tightly to grab my attention or something, but nothing much happened.” Donghyuck deliberately ignores the first question and tries to keep his tone light. “You came at just the right time anyway.”

“At just the right time for what?” Doyoung’s voice grows urgent and Donghyuck bits his lower lip when he realizes his slip up. “What did I interrupt? What did he imply?”

Donghyuck’s phone pings, vibrating against the table, face down. He breaks eye contact with Doyoung to grab it and lower it to his lap, turning it over. He’s got a new message but he doesn’t recognize the sender’s kakaotalk ID.

_i got your id from chenle_

He frowns. Chenle wouldn’t give it away without asking him first.

“Haechan, answer me please,” Doyoung implores and Donghyuck is sure it’s the first time he’s ever heard him sound like that.

His phone pings again. He goes to switch it off but falters. Another notification has popped up but this time it’s a picture. Curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the chat. The sight that greets him nearly makes him drop his phone, blood rushing from his head, air stuck in his lungs.

“What’s wrong?” The question snaps him out of his daze and he quickly switches the screen off.

“I’ve got to pee,” he stammers as he stands up, the chair screeching against the floor. He rushes off to the restaurant’s bathroom before Doyoung can respond and locks himself into a cubicle.

He sits down on the toilet lid, phone in unsteady hands. He breathes once, deeply, and turns the screen on again.

There’s no mistaking it. It’s himself. He’s wearing the same green track pants and the same orange and black stripped sweater that he wore for the photoshoot. The nature of the situation he’s in can hardly be misidentified either. He’s leaning against white tiles, almost lying down. His shirt and sweater are untucked and his pants low on his hips. He’s got dishevelled hair, tear-tracks down his cheeks. His eyes are puffy, barely opened and unfocused but directed straight at the camera. His lips are swollen red and slightly parted, drool mixed with come trailing from one corner.

He feels like the walls are closing in, his heart about to fly out of his chest.

It’s _not_ in his head. It’s actually _real._

His breathing, which has been steadily quickening, abruptly stops when another message arrives.

_let’s meet up. you wouldn’t want this image to get out would you?_

He lets go of his phone, which clatters on the floor, as he quickly gets up. He turns around, opening the toilet lid with shaky fingers, leans forward and heaves, emptying all the contents of his stomach. Once there’s nothing else but bile to throw up, he tilts sideways and lets himself rest against the cold wall.

A knock on the door startles him. “Haechannie, you okay?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and swallows to get rid of the taste but the sourness is overpowering.

Another knock and Doyoung speaks through the door. “I’m sorry if I pressured you. That wasn’t my intention.”

Donghyuck flushes the toilet and bends down to pick up his phone. There’s a fresh crack on the screen but it’s still working. He switches it off completely before sliding it into his back pocket.

“Haechan?”

“Hyung,” Donghyuck finally rasps out as he opens the door. “I feel sick.” He lets himself fall forward to lean on Doyoung’s chest, shivering, and Doyoung’s arms instinctively encircle him. Before he can hide his face in Doyoung’s warm sweater, Doyoung’s fingers finds his chin and lift it. His eyes run over Donghyuck’s face and he must look as bad as he feels because Doyoung sighs and hugs him tighter. “Let’s get you home then.”

 

 

 

Donghyuck is awfully sweaty —and pale, Doyoung adds— so while he gets into a clean set of t-shirt and sweatpants, Doyoung goes to fetch a thermometer. He’s got no fever, however, so he’s made to drink an awful concoction meant to alleviate digestive problems and is left to sleep it off.

Before exiting the room, Doyoung adjusts the blanket around Donghyuck. “You can come to me whenever you’re ready.” His voice is soft. His hands smooth the fabric. “Actually anyone of us would gladly listen to you and help you. You know that, right?”

Donghyuck nods but the picture flashes in his head and all he can really think about is of hands on him, under his clothes, in his hair. Deep shame runs throughout his body, spreading a scorching heat from his tailbone to the back of his throat.

After Doyoung shuts the door behind him, Donghyuck curls around himself, pressing his face against the pillow, but his mind is stuck in a loop. He almost wishes he was voiceless again if it meant he could just forget all of this.

Deep inside, though, he knows it’s better to know.

He sits up and snatches his phone from the bedside table. His upper teeth gnawing on his lower lip, he finally switches it on. It takes forever to initiate, or at least that what it feels like. It doesn’t help that he gets the pattern of his screen lock wrong twice due to his tremulous fingers. But soon enough, he’s able to open the chat.

There’s no new message but the picture is still there. He taps on it until it takes up the whole screen. He wants to look away —really, he wants to toss his phone out of the window, hide under his blanket forever and pretend none of this is happening— but he doesn’t because, in spite of the humiliation that is steadily searing itself in his gut, this is a tangible proof of what happened to him. As he stares at it, he realizes something.

There are no signs of struggle, no blood, no ripped clothes, no bruises, no nothing.

He had frozen, unable to defend himself.

The way he had easily been overpowered, how quickly the events had taken place. The way it had actually been quite easy for the man to do this, how efficiently and self-assuredly he had acted.

Donghyuck shudders. All of this probably means he wasn’t the first one. The man had done this before at least once but possibly more. It also means that he probably wouldn’t be the last one. That maybe the man had already done it again.

He exits the picture to read the words over. _i got your id from chenle_

Chenle would never have given his ID away like that, to a stranger. Unease overtakes him. Is it a kind of threat? Or, worse, did something happen to Chenle as well?

No, no, Chenle has been behaving normally, unlike himself. He had been so excited to see the pictures printed in the magazine too.

The following line is definitely a threat though. _let’s meet up. you wouldn’t want this image to get out would you?_

Yeah, that definitely sounds ominous.

He closes the chat with a sigh, his mind buzzing. This all still feels very much like a bad dream. He fiddles with his phone, unable to settle on anything but also unable to relax back down on his bed. He knows he has to do something but he feels paralysed, the severity of the situation and its ramifications overwhelming him. There’s no solution where all this would go away easily. Should he ignore him? Agree to meet him? Tell someone?

His eyes come across the recording app. He opens it and his fingers find the recording of the day Mark stumbled in on his singing practice. He hasn’t listened to it yet. He connects his earphones and presses play.

It’s his singing voice, which… not bad at all, but it’s soon followed by Mark’s troubled one. _You should have…. wanted to tell me._

He remembers his promise of not hiding anything anymore. Though he hadn’t been completely honest with Mark at that time, he had meant to keep his promise, thinking that he would talk to him whenever he felt like he could actually grasp what his problem is.

He plays the recording one more time and it gives him the impulse to cross the corridor to the room Mark shares with Doyoung, phone tightly clutched in his hand, and knocks on the door. Nothing happens, and his resolve slowly deflates. Still, he forces himself to knock one last time, a bit louder, calling out, “Mark-hyung? Are you there?”

He hears shuffling inside —a thump and a muffled cry— and the door opens to reveal a blinking Mark, glasses slightly crooked.

“Were you napping?”

“Errr— no, well, yes,” Mark tries to unwrinkle the t-shirt he was obviously sleeping in, “but I’m fully awake now.”

Donghyuck hesitates. Maybe this is a mistake. He goes to step back but Mark reaches for his wrist. “Do you want to come in?” His hold is loose enough that Donghyuck could pull his hand away if he wanted to. Instead, he nods.

Mark lets go of his wrist and sits on his bed. He pats the spot next to him and Donghyuck joins him, thigh against thigh, their proximity bringing him comfort. Donghyuck resists the sudden urge to straighten Mark’s glasses, instead breaking the silence, voice strained.

“Remember how I promised to tell you if there was something more?”

Mark’s eyes are focused on him, a sign that he’s listening attentively. He encourages him to go on by nodding.

“Well, something happened.” Donghyuck’s throat closes and he has to lower his gaze from Mark’s, redirecting it to his own hands, which are resting on his thighs.

“What happened?” It’s accompanied with a gentle press of Mark’s hand on his knee, meant to reassure. The tenderness of the touch, however, makes it even more daunting. It feels impossible to communicate something that feels both so nasty and shameful but also silly —because why hadn’t he been able to prevent it? also, it’s not like he was hurt that badly anyway, is it?

It’s even more unnerving when it’s to someone whose love and esteem he can’t afford to lose, to someone who doesn’t even have any inkling of what Donghyuck is trying to express.

He runs his tongue over his lips a few times, trying to find the right words. They escape him, glued at the back of his throat. He clears his throat; they taunt him from the tip of his tongue. His hands clench around the fabric of his sweatpants. He feels his face flush and his eyes start to tear up, partly from frustration, partly from embarrassment, and maybe also from sadness.

“I can’t,” he mumbles. With the admission, tears slide down his cheeks, dropping from his chin onto one of his closed fists, onto the hand Mark moves to cover Donghyuck’s other fist.

“Can’t what?” Mark’s fingers wrap around his hand, trying to halt Donghyuck’s compulsive crumpling of the fabric.

“Can’t say it.” He blinks a few times, trying to chase the tears away, and glances to the side. Mark looks rattled.

“What can be so bad that you can’t tell me?” Mark insists. “I promise not to judge, whatever it is.”

“I…” Donghyuck looks up and he must look like a mess because Mark has one brief glimpse at his face before he immediately embraces him, a hand going to pat his head in a soothing gesture. The tears have redoubled and he gives up on fighting them, letting himself quietly sob in the crook of Mark’s neck.

“It’s fine,” Mark whispers, “You don’t need to tell me.” He moves slightly back and hold Donghyuck by the shoulders to peer directly into his eyes. “But at least tell me what I can do.”

There’s nothing Mark can do to fix this. “Don’t—,” Donghyuck hiccups, “don’t leave me?”

He knows he’s probably being melodramatic but that awareness doesn’t extinguish the sudden apprehension that things will change for the worse, that he’ll soon lose the things he holds dear. It alarms Mark further, eyebrows shooting up and lips curving down. He hugs Donghyuck once more, closer than before. Donghyuck curls into his chest.

“I won’t,” Mark finally says. Donghyuck can feel him hesitating to continue, hearing his mouth opening and closing with only air exiting until his thoughts hurriedly tumble out. “If you can’t tell me, maybe you can tell someone else? Like… your therapists? Your parents? Any of the hyungs?”

Donghyuck nods.

“Will you really try for me? Promise?”

His sobs have calmed down, soothed by Mark’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear. He mumbles a low _I promise_ into Mark’s t-shirt. Mark sighs into his hair and tightens his arms around Donghyuck.

 

 

 

Donghyuck couldn’t keep his first promise. He should at least keep the second one. On the same day, after an afternoon miserably lying in bed weighing his options, he messages Doyoung.

_Can we talk?_

The reply comes fairly quickly. _now?_

_yeah_

_ice-cream place in 20?_

_ok_

 

The shop is situated in a small street, not far from the dorms. It’s not the best ice-cream ever but the vanilla flavour is kind of alright, probably because it’s difficult to get such a basic flavour wrong. Most importantly, there are some tables hidden from view that can’t be seen from the outside.

Doyoung is already there when Donghyuck arrives, sipping on an iced coffee, probably decaf because it’s already nearing 8pm. Donghyuck sits down across from him and orders one scoop of vanilla in a cup. The shop is nearly empty and he’s quickly served.

He shoves a big spoonful in his mouth and decides he’ll just dive right in once the ice-cream has fully melted on his tongue, before he loses his nerve.

Vanilla spoonful dissolved, he clears his throat and Doyoung looks up from his coffee, which he’s been stirring while patiently waiting for Donghyuck to start. “I think I’m being blackmailed.”

“Eh?” Doyoung’s spoon clinks against the cup as it drops from his fingers. “What?”

“Like… do you remember the first thing the doctor said when I lost my voice? That it was because of a traumatic incident?”

Doyoung nods, and it’s somehow a bit easier to speak because Doyoung probably knows where Donghyuck is heading, even if it’s a very approximate suspicion. Even so, his heart is beating wildly and his hands are sweaty. At least, he seems to have exhausted all of his tears with the earlier conversation.

“And do you remember the thing that you interrupted, you know, with that man.”

“I do,” Doyoung mutters and his lips twist into a grimace.

Donghyuck clears his throat again. “Well, I… something else happened and he has pictures of it.”

“Pictures?”

Donghyuck shifts in his seat, looking down at the cup. “He sent one to me.”

“Can I see it?”

Donghyuck stays silent, watching how the ice-cream is slowly softening in its cup.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Doyoung’s voice wavers slightly. “Did he hurt you?”

Donghyuck bites his lower lip, eyes never leaving the melting mess. The silence expands. He searches for the best way to word it. He finds none but he has to say it anyway.

“He might have… like... touched me and stuff,” he stutters and glances up on time to see Doyoung’s face fall and his shoulders sag.

“Stuff?”

Donghyuck looks back down, this time at his sleeves, and pulls on them before he answers. “You know… like… sexual stuff.”

He hears Doyoung’s sharp intake of breath but it doesn’t really register because it’s as if a floodgate has been opened, words flowing out of him without too much thought, and it’s probably better because if he were to ponder them too much, he would stop altogether.

“It came back to me after the meeting you saw and I thought maybe I was remembering wrong or something and that I could just forget about it but then I received the picture and…” Donghyuck looks up, right into Doyoung’s wide eyes, “and like… what if… next time it’s someone else, someone younger. I… He texted that he wanted to meet me again and what if he does something worse?”

Doyoung blinks a few times, mouth slightly ajar, looking utterly perturbed. “Haechan… I…” He wets his lips. “Do you realize what you’re implying?”

Donghyuck nods, ignoring the slight tinge of pain he feels in his chest. “Yeah, I know.” Doyoung’s reaction isn’t that unexpected, after all, Donghyuck himself had tried to deny it, strongly enough that he had forgotten about it and lost his voice.

What he hadn’t quite expected is Doyoung’s expression to turn this grief-stricken at his confirmation. It’s fleeting, quickly hidden by the way Doyoung looks away and rumples his own hair. When he looks back at Donghyuck, a deep frown mars his face.

“I thought something serious had happened but this is— I had hoped—” Doyoung reaches across the table and gently grasps Donghyuck’s hand, stopping it from nervously fiddling with the cup and spilling more of the now-liquified ice-cream on the table. “I’m really sorry.”

Donghyuck feels himself choking up. “Why are you sorry?” He holds onto Doyoung’s hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know but… I’m still sorry,” Doyoung replies. “You don’t deserve this.”

Donghyuck is at loss because he knows this already —he _really_ does _—_ and yet those words make him unbelievably relieved. It’s as if he’s been handed an oxygen mask, the pressure that he hadn’t realized constricted his chest dwindling, lungs now able to fully expand. A tear or two escape from his eyes. “I… Yeah, I know, hyung.”

Doyoung nods. “Okay, good, good,” he murmurs, reaching forward again with his other hand to wipe Donghyuck’s tears away with his thumb. “You said he contacted you?”

Donghyuck worries his teeth into his bottom lip before grabbing his phone. He opens the chat and slides the phone towards Doyoung. Without letting go of his hand, Doyoung picks the phone up with his other hand and, as his gaze skims over the screen, as he takes in the picture, his expression grows more distraught, his hold on Donghyuck tightening.

“What do you want to do?” Doyoung finally asks. He switches the screen off and lays the phone down on the table.

“Well, report him, I guess,” Donghyuck replies, playing with Doyoung’s fingers. He can’t meet his eyes.

“I think you should but…” Doyoung sighs, “we’ll have to go through management. You’ll have to describe everything in detail, show proof. He’s going to make it hard for you. You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to. We could think of other options.”

“What other options? Fleeing abroad? Killing him?” Donghyuck scoffs, letting his head drop forward, forehead resting against the table. “I don’t think I can live with myself knowing he’s out there, you know, with people unaware of what he’s capable of doing.”

Doyoung remains silent for a few seconds. “Alright.”

“Hyung?” Donghyuck’s head lolls to the side, cheek now resting against the cold surface.

“Yeah?” Doyoung replies, his hand settles on top of Donghyuck’s head, fingers stroking his hair.

“Don’t tell the others.”

The fingers still for a split second before they start to massage his scalp. “Alright.” The caresses are so soothing that Donghyuck’s eyelids close on their own.

 

 

 

Donghyuck almost misses the agonizingly slow days of uncertainty and indecision because, after he’s taken the first step of going to talk to management, everything seems to happen at once and not quite in the way he anticipated.

Doyoung is there, a comforting presence, when they explain to him that for the law to take action against sexual assault, the victim has to prove that they resisted, even more so in same sex cases like his, where there’s no vaginal penetration. It would be very difficult to evidence as there were no security cameras, he hadn’t sustained any physical injuries that necessitated a hospital visit —injuries which would therefore have been officially recorded— and also, _well,_ _the picture doesn’t show that you were in distress, on the contrary, it could be used to claim the opposite._

Donghyuck feels himself redden, mortification consuming him. Fighting the tears that are rising as well as his desire to lower his head, he stares at the patterned wall behind the staff and lawyer and tries not to remember the way the man’s hands had brought him to orgasm in spite of the fear and disgust he had felt. It’s something he hasn’t been able to bring up with anyone.

“What about the emotional damage?” Doyoung asks next to him, his hand finding Donghyuck’s knuckles, trying to ease his grip on the armchair.

“Yes, can’t we use his aphonia?” Jin-woo-hyung adds from Donghyuck’s other side. “His therapists could testify.”

“Physical proof, or rather the lack of it, will weigh much more than a psychological condition, which, they will argue, might not be related to the incident,” the lawyer explains, voice neutral. “And, again, like with the picture, psychological instability _will_ be used against Donghyuck. I’m not saying it’s true, I’m trying to make you understand that they will try to tarnish his image to attack his credibility.”

In the end, it’s deemed safer for Donghyuck —and NCT’s image really— not to press charges. Instead, it’s been decided that the man should be dealt with quietly, by banning him from ever working with SM and affiliated companies and spreading the word in the entertainment industry.

 

 

 

That night, Donghyuck goes to Mark and Doyoung’s room. He knocks once and, not waiting for an answer, pushes the door open. Doyoung isn’t there yet, probably still in the bathroom, but Mark is already in bed, scribbling in his notebook. After a peak at Donghyuck’s anxious face, Mark closes his notebook, leaving it on his bedtable, and scoots towards the wall. He lifts one corner of his blanket. “Are you getting in, or are you gonna stay standing there all night and creepily watch me sleep?”

Donghyuck snorts, tension easing a bit, and climbs in, like he used to do when they were younger and he missed his family. He settles on his side, facing Doyoung’s bed, his back to Mark, their legs brushing against each other’s under the blanket.

“I told Doyoung,” Donghyuck murmurs. “Management is sort of taking care of it.” _So don’t worry_ is what he means to say but it’s left implied. He’s so tired that words don't come easily.

“I’m glad,” Mark whispers back. Donghyuck feels him shift closer until Mark’s arm and side are touching his back, warmth seeping in.

“You’re not curious?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I think I was even angry, frustrated or something, that you wouldn’t trust me with it,” Mark sighs. “I’m sorry for that, for making it about me. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, right?”

Donghyuck hums. There’s a few more minutes of silence. Donghyuck feels restless, his legs and arms twitching. “Hug me?”

Mark replies by rolling on his side and sliding one arm over Donghyuck waist, bringing him closer to his torso. “’S that okay?” He sounds drowsy and Donghyuck feels bad for bothering him. “Yeah, thanks.”

Donghyuck feels Mark’s hold relax as he falls asleep but his own eyes are wide open, the words from earlier replaying in his mind. They really thought the picture could be used against him as proof the encounter had been consensual. He can’t supress the shiver that runs through his back and burrows himself deeper into the embrace.

Doyoung steps in quietly, towel hanging from his shoulders. If he’s surprised to find Donghyuck there, he doesn’t show it. He kneels next to Mark’s bed and gently pats Donghyuck’s hair. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Just sleep.”

Donghyuck closes his eyes and tries to, but the words don’t leave him alone, the events of the past months intermingling. _Ah, don’t be coy. You were such a good boy._ Such a good boy that he didn’t look like he was _in distress_ , that he looked like he wanted this, and maybe this answers the question of why _him_ and not someone else.

 

 

 

A week passes and Jin-woo-hyung reassures him that everything is going well, and Donghyuck starts to relax. He goes to therapy and talks about it, though not in detail and not about what bothers him the most. Still, it helps and he begins to sleep decent hours in his own bed.

This all shatters when one morning, as he checks his phone from bed, having just woken up, he sees a new message.

_that’s what you get for being a naughty boy_

There’s a link that accompanies the message. He swiftly sits up, legs hanging out over the side of the bed. He glances at Jaehyun’s sleeping form before he clicks on the link.

It opens to an online article, “Idol caught in immoral act.” He barely scrolls down and… it’s his picture. His face is partially hidden with a black bar but it’s still easy to guess it’s him, with the distinctive clothes from the photoshoot, his hair colour, the shape of his mouth, and the moles that dot his neck. His chest constricts and he drops the phone, which clatters loudly on the floor, both hands flying up to his chest trying to calm down the frantic pounding of his heart against his ribcage. He must be hyperventilating because his head is starting to spin.

“Haechan?” It’s Jaehyun, hands on both his cheeks, trying to get Donghyuck to look at him. “Calm down. Breathe with me.”

He’s trying to, but his vision is swimming, Jaehyun’s face is a blurred mess if that was ever possible, and his chest is burning. More voices join the commotion and then he’s breathing in and out of a paper bag. It takes a while before he stops feeling like he’s drowning, as he manages to regulate his respiration to a slower pace.

Donghyuck blinks a few time, head still lowered from when he was breathing into the bag, his eyes adjusting. He looks up to see the worried expressions of his hyungs, Jaehyun kneeling down in front of him, gently taking the bag out of his grasp, Johnny hovering behind him, while Taeyong and Doyoung are at the door, faces pinched in concern.

A heavy anticipatory stillness fills the room and it’s Doyoung who breaks it as he steps inside and retrieves Donghyuck’s phone from the floor. The screen has additional fissures but they don’t prevent it from working, the article still clearly displayed. The concern on Doyoung’s face quickly morphs into dismay as he scrolls through it.

“Doyoung, what is it?” Taeyong asks, seeing his agitated expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I— I need to make a call.” Doyoung stammers as he steps back towards the door. “I’ll be back in a sec. Just… stay with him.” He rushes outside. “Wait,” Taeyong exclaims, following close on his heels, leaving the door wide open.

Johnny and Jaehyun exchange a confused gaze before they turn their attention to Donghyuck. He avoids their questioning looks by fixing his gaze to the floor. Strangely, he’s starting to feel detached from the situation, as if it wasn’t quite real, as if he hadn’t woken up yet, because this definitely belongs to his top nightmare scenarios. He pinches his own thigh and, while it stings, the pain fails to anchor him.

“Haechan, what’s going on?” Jaehyun asks softly, still kneeling in front of him, searching to meet his eyes. He does briefly before Donghyuck closes them tightly.

“Hyuck?”

Mark’s voice breaks through the fog in his mind and it dawns on him, _everyone will know._ Everyone. The fans, his family, even Mark. Worse, they’ll _see_ it, they’ll see him at his most degraded. His chest is burning again, though this time from shame. It spreads like wildfire until even the tips of his ears are scorching red. Tears are rising and he has no strength to stop the flood.

“Hyung,” Donghyuck whimpers, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Mark’s arms envelop him, pulling him forward until he’s leaning against Mark’s chest. “Don’t leave me,” he mumbles in-between sobs.

“I won’t but, Hyuck, what’s—”

“Guys, what’s going on?” Taeil interrupts from the doorway, Yuta and Jungwoo peering from behind him. “Is he okay?”

Mark shrugs helplessly, “I’m not sure.”

He doesn’t have to explain further as Doyoung is already making his way back, Yuta and Jungwoo letting him through. “There’s a situation and I need to talk to Haechan.” No one seems to react, so he stresses, “Alone.”

They all leave but when Mark attempts to move away, Donghyuck just holds on tighter. “Hyuck.”

“Stay,” Donghyuck rasps out.

Mark shares a look with Doyoung, who gives him a tight smile and nods. Mark settles on the bed next to Donghyuck, bringing him into his lap. Doyoung’s fingers nervously fiddle with Donghyuck’s phone. “I’ve talked to Jin-woo-hyung. They’ve been discussing with the lawyer and…” he wets his lips, “the company has decided to release a statement that denies everything.”

Donghyuck rubs his cheeks on Mark’s pyjamas before tilting his head to the side, towards Doyoung. “How? There’s a picture,” Donghyuck asks, voice quivering and tinged with confusion.

A startled _eh?_ slips out of Mark. He immediately bites his lip, whispers a _sorry_ while gently running his fingers over Donghyuck’s nape, and bobs his head at Doyoung for him to continue.

“Well, pictures are easily alterable nowadays, with face-swapping programs and photoshop,” Doyoung explains. “You have no proof of what he did but thankfully it works the other way around as well. He also has no proof that it happened or that it’s actually you.” At Donghyuck’s frowns, he adds, “I know it’s difficult but that’s the best option.”

Donghyuck sniffles and nods slightly because what’s the alternative really. The searing heat of shame is slowly substituted by numbing hopelessness. People won’t believe it that easily. They’ll always look at him and wonder, or worse, they’ll judge and it’s gonna splash the whole group, tarnishing their image.

“Do you— We should tell the truth to the others though,” Doyoung continues, “also you should call your parents.”

Donghyuck nods again. Doyoung hands him his phone back. “Don’t reply to him.”

Donghyuck shivers at the thought and shakes his head, but doesn’t make any move to take it. Mark’s arms tighten comfortingly around him, and Doyoung leaves the phone on his bedside table.

“I’ll go get the others. We’ll wait for you in the living room,” Doyoung wipes a hand across one of Donghyuck’s wet cheeks. “It’ll be okay.”

As Doyoung leaves, Donghyuck disentangles himself from Mark, though not completely as Mark steers him towards the bathroom, “So you can freshen up a bit.” He hands him a towel for him to dry his face after he’s washed the tears and snot away.

Everyone is waiting for them in the living room. They’ve left an empty spot on the sofa for them. Mark sits down and Donghyuck settles down next to him, gluing himself to his side. He takes Mark’s hand and, staring at it, runs his fingers over the lines.

Doyoung clears his throat. “Something serious happened to Haechannie and it somehow got out to the public so… yeah.” He glances at Donghyuck. “The company’s going to deflect it but it’s better if you know the truth since it’ll have an impact on all of us.” Donghyuck winces at the words, his fingers stilling. Mark grasps his hand, firmly, comfortingly.

“Maybe it should be Donghyuck who tells us,” Mark says, “Donghyuck-ah?”

Donghyuck nods, though he can’t seem to look up from Mark’s hand. He swallows a few times and opens his mouth but he doesn’t really know where to start, nor what to include.

“Does it have to do with your aphonia?” Johnny asks.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck replies and he might as well go with the momentum and get it over with as quickly as possible. “I— You know, there was this photoshoot for— for the Arena magazine and during one of the breaks, the photographer,” he gulps, trying to get rid of the lump that just formed at the back of his throat, “the photographer kind of took advantage of me and—” his throat tightens again, voice thinning. He can feel Mark tensing next to him, his fingers digging into his hand. “He took a picture of it and tried to blackmail me with it and ahhh… it somehow got published online. Yeah, I guess that’s kind of what happened.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to settle in. “When you say he took advantage of you, you mean…” Yuta pauses, weighing his words, “sexually?”

Donghyuck expects a burst of noise to erupt, questions to rain down on him. Instead, his slight nod is greeted with a few quiet gasps. The questions come trickling, from a place of bewilderment that this could happen, that it could transpire without them knowing, without anyone being able to stop it.

Ultimately, like Doyoung said, it’s okay. There’s still plenty of shame on his part at the thought of them knowing, the unpleasant feeling of being pitied, but mostly relief that they don’t question the truth of it and so he dares to raise his head.

The diverse shades of shock, worry and sadness painted on their face spark a guilt that fills the pit of his stomach and he lets himself be coddled. Mark doesn’t let go of his hand while Taeil, Jungwoo and Johnny are all soft hugs, damp eyes and warm affection. Taeyong pats him on the head, telling him not to worry anymore, hyungs will take care of him. Sicheng is still all shaken up, Jaehyun’s consoling hand on his shoulder.

“Are we not going to report the asshole?” Yuta asks, eyebrows furrowed, and Jaehyun hums in agreement. It’s directed at Doyoung, who shakes his head in reply. “It’s better to deny. He’s being blacklisted by the whole industry though.”

Yuta snorts, anger and frustration barely concealed. “Well, that’s the bare minimum punishment. He deserves far worse.”

And Donghyuck agrees. At least a punch in the face.

Surrounded by this caring warmth, however, Donghyuck clings to the idea that this is fine as well. It’s better for everyone anyway.

 

 

 

His parents get a white lie, the official version. It’s not that hard to lie on the phone, that it’s an edited picture and not to worry because he’s fine, really. The rumours are a bit hard to handle but nothing bad has happened to him, he promises.

He sends a few texts responding to some school friends with similar explanations but the Dreamies are harder to fool, that is, Donghyuck finds that it’s impossible. It’s to be expected, after all, they have witnessed most of his recent stumbles.

Donghyuck doesn’t really know what to feel when he thinks about them seeing the picture, but what he really can’t stand is the way Chenle puts two and two together at Donghyuck’s confirmation that it’s real, his face scrunching up in horror at the realization that he was nearby, a few rooms away, and maybe—

“You couldn’t have known, Chenle,” Donghyuck says, “I’m fine now.”

Chenle throws himself into Donghyuck’s arms, hugging him tightly while hiding his face into Donghyuck’s sweater. He’s crying and it makes Donghyuck want to tear up but he promised himself he wouldn’t so he stares at the wall of the practice room, unblinking, waiting for his eyes to dry. The others hover anxiously, not really knowing what to do, which Donghyuck can understand. He probably wouldn’t know either if roles were reversed.

“Are you though? Fine?” Jeno asks, soft and sad, and it makes Donghyuck not want to lie.

“Not quite but I’ll be soon.” Chenle steps back, calmer but still sniffling, though he doesn’t let go of him, hand firmly clutching Donghyuck’s hoodie. Jisung gets a hold of Chenle’s other hand, his gaze trained on the floor. He hasn’t been able to look at Donghyuck. At Renjun’s sceptical stare, Donghyuck continues, “You know, when it’s been more… like… gone… with time I’ll feel better.” He waves his hand in the air, as if the gesture could just dissipate everything. Renjun’s lips just purse harder.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not as if I’m dying,” Donghyuck tries to keep his tone light but he falters as Jaemin, who has remained uncharacteristically silent, throws him a dark look.

“Don’t joke about that,” Jaemin snaps. “This guy could _really_ have done much worse to you.”

His voice comes out harsh, his features distorted by anger. Donghyuck winces. He feels ghost hands digging into his wrists, his throat closing, heartrate quickening. “Yeah, right, because that wasn’t bad enough.”

Jaemin jerks back, eyes widening. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Donghyuck feels himself deflate and he has to look away. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll just—”

“Haechannie,” Jeno sighs, closing the distance between them. He pulls him into a hug. “He’s just mad on your behalf,” he whispers in his ear though Donghyuck is pretty sure that everyone can hear him. “He and Renjun totally want to kill that guy. I think they totally could.” Jeno squeezes him gently and Donghyuck lets his chin rest on his shoulder. “Also, I’d totally let them.” Donghyuck almost snorts but he stops himself as he realizes that it’s said half-jokingly, half-seriously.

“Guys, don’t do anything stupid,” he ends mumbling into Jeno’s shoulder, “or I’ll have to kick your butts.”

 

 

 

Even after the release of SM’s disavowal statement —netizens not quite believing, some getting too close to the truth because they’ve done the maths looking at the calendar and the photoshoot and his aphonia line up too perfectly, some simply calling him a _slut, what do you expect from this industry anyway_ —, it’s too crunchy, too titillating to be gone from the news cycle quickly. Still, Donghyuck does get better with therapy; he can sing in front of his coach and the others though not yet in front of a crowd, under stark lights. He also feels lighter now that it’s no longer a secret buried deep in his unconscious though it’s also hard to behave like a ray of sunshine when his bandmates have _seen_ him in _that_ situation, when they _know._

They don’t talk about it but they’re too careful around him, in the way they touch him and joke around, as if he’s suddenly become breakable. There are way less tickle fights, or rather, they’re different: no one dares hold him down to tickle him. He’s decided to tickle them harder as revenge. It seems silly to be upset about that, and they’re only being careful because they care, but he can’t help but think that it was easier when no one knew.

He’s in a constant pendulum, oscillating between shame and liberation, between frustration and gratitude, between regret and relief. His therapist has suggested he talks to them and he said he would but he doesn’t really know how to without bringing down the atmosphere, which he can’t bring himself to do. He’ll just have to rely on time passing to fix it.

 

 

 

The occasion to do something stupid comes unexpectedly. With Donghyuck’s lack of public appearance and the absence of new information, the scandal slowly dies down, replaced by dating gossip and more important news of political corruption. He almost feels like he can get over it and so it takes him completely by surprise when he encounters the man on the set of a variety show.

He’s just had his make-up done with Jeno, Jungwoo, Mark and Doyoung and he’s walking back to the set with them, excitedly talking with Jeno. It’s their first appearance with all the members since _Empathy_ and he can feel the anticipation running through his veins, amplified by the chaos that reigns in the studio, the staff frantic in their rush to get everything ready on time.

His laughter at Jeno’s lame joke is cut short as he catches a glimpse of the man’s face. Their eyes meet across the busy hallway and his breath gets caught in his lungs. The man leers at him. He feels himself freeze, abruptly stopping in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Jeno asks, stopping as well. He follows Donghyuck’s gaze and, as he recognizes the man, quickly tugs Donghyuck behind him, trying to shield him from the man’s stare.

They’re not the only one who have noticed, however, and before anyone can react, Mark is rushing forward, quickly reaching the man, and punches him straight in the face.

It doesn’t seem possible but Donghyuck is sure he can hear the man’s nose crack.

The man stumbles back, shock written all over his face, and his hand, which had flown to his nose to check the damage, comes back down bloody.

Mark raises his fist again —it’s shaky and also bloody— but Doyoung steps in front of Mark, hands raised up, while Jungwoo grabs Mark by the torso and drags him away, almost having to lift him up from the floor. Jungwoo can’t get that far but he doesn’t release Mark, who ends up sagging into his hold.

In the general disorder, no one has noticed the disturbance yet. Before he knows what he’s doing, heart thumping wildly against his ribcage, Donghyuck steps forward. He’s halted by Jeno’s hand on his elbow, “Haechan.”

“I just…” He shakes Jeno’s hand off and walks towards Doyoung and the man, Jeno trailing close behind him.

The man is seething, blood trickling from his nose, while Doyoung tells him to leave _right now or else.._.

“Or else what?” the man sneers, hand trying to stop the blood flow and failing. It’s staining his white shirt. “You’ll report me?”

“I’ll punch you myself.” It comes out slightly unsteady and hurried, before Donghyuck can really think it through, his fingers closing into fists, nails digging into tender flesh. The man’s stare falls on him as Doyoung spins around, “Haechan.”

“You?” the man replies, “I don’t think so.”

Donghyuck’s body trembles, all the frustration and despair building up into a blinding rage. He throws himself forward but, not being caught by surprise this time, the man easily dodges his fist and Donghyuck tumbles onto the floor, hands and knees breaking his fall.

As the man lifts his foot to kick him, Jeno hurriedly throws himself in front of Donghyuck, hands reaching for his waist, and grunts in pain when the man’s foot collides with his ribs.

Doyoung grips the man’s shoulder, whirling him around. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” he shouts and it’s loud enough to echo around the room and attract everyone’s attention. The staff have stopped working at the sight of the blood and the fallen idols, hesitating on the adequate course of action while the show’s director, Jin-woo-hyung and other managers hurriedly start to make their way to them.

The man jerks out of Doyoung’s hold and stares down at Donghyuck, “See, you’re just a pathetic boy.”

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck hisses, it’s venomous, filled to the brim with all the hate he can summon, which is an awful lot. The man chuckles and Donghyuck sees red again, but Jeno makes him turn away and, as Donghyuck meets Jeno’s pained eyes, he feels the hate drips away, replaced by the familiar heat of shame.

Jin-woo-hyung is quick to assess the situation and steer the man away with the help of Doyoung, the director and another manager. The man doesn’t resist, being outnumbered and also probably realizing that the situation makes him look bad.

“Jeno, I’m sorry,” Donghyuck bites his lower lip. “Does it hurt?”

Jeno shakes his head. “I’m fine. I think it’s just bruised.” He pokes at his own ribs, flinching slightly but ultimately standing up. He offers his hand to Donghyuck. “Are _you_ okay?”

Donghyuck lets himself be pulled up. His knees and hands are sore from the fall, and his muscles ache from the fading anger and adrenaline. It’s the first time he’s wanted to hurt someone so badly and felt compelled to act on it. He’s not proud of it.

“I’m okay." He doesn’t want to dwell on the man’s words, doesn’t want to give them power over him, and so he pushes them at the back of his mind.

Jeno doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t insist. “I think you should probably talk to Mark-hyung.”

Donghyuck searches for him. He only glimpses the back of his head as Mark retreats to the dressing room, followed by Jungwoo who gives Donghyuck a last confused look before disappearing.

Mark refuses to meet his eyes for the remaining of the day but it’s kind of okay because the members seemingly take turns to glue themselves to Donghyuck and shower him with affection.

He never thought he would think so one day, but it’s a bit stifling, all those pats and hugs. He lets them dote on him anyway because it distracts him from the events and, well, he feels guilty. In the end, it’s not so bad as he even gets a kiss on the cheek from Jisung.

 

 

 

A day turns into a week. Donghyuck has trouble sleeping again and Mark is still avoiding him. His therapist suggests he talks to him. _Well duh_ , he wants to reply but only nods at her because she doesn’t deserve his sarcasm. She’s the one who is finally helping him sort out his feelings of guilt and shame.

Donghyuck _has_ tried to catch Mark alone for a talk but instead he’s only managed to find him being, at the same time, scolded and comforted by Doyoung. He quickly left when he heard his own name being mentioned, not wanting to overhear the private conversation.

 

 

 

It’s Tuesday morning of week two and he’s been tossing and turning in bed for what seems like an eternity after waking up from a nightmare —blood dripping from a hand, the word _pathetic_ echoing against cold white tiles— when he decides to get up and fetch a glass of water. It’s already 6ish anyway so he only has an hour to kill before the others start to wake up.

The cool water feels nice against his parched throat. He leaves the glass on the coffee table as he lays down on the sofa and turns on the tv. He’s watching an episode of a random tv-show on mute with the subtitles on when his phone rings. It’s Jin-woo-hyung. It’s also 6.47am, which is unusually early for a call. He picks up.

“Hyung?”

_“Did I wake you up?”_

“Not really. What’s the occasion, hyung?”

_“Good news. They’ve caught him for drug trafficking, and also for prostitution and distribution of pornography of minors.”_

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to say. Minors. So he’s done worse things.

_“Haechan? Did you hear? He’s going to get jail time for sure.”_

“I… Yeah, yeah. So you mean that,” he takes a deep breath, not really wanting to pronounce those syllables but he has to make sure. “Seo Dong-jae has been arrested?”

_“Yes, I called you as soon as I confirmed the charges and his detention.”_

“Hyung, are you sure?” Donghyuck asks, trepidation making him stutter. “Really, really sure?”

“ _Yes, also the police got some solid evidence so it’s a pretty sure thing. He’s going to be convicted.”_

“Do I— Do I need to testify or something?” He stands up, clutching a pillow to his chest.

_“No, no. Haechannie, you don’t understand. They got him good. It’s the end for him.”_

He squeezes the pillow, tears of relief gathering at the edge of his eyes.

“Hyuck?”

Donghyuck nearly drops both the phone and the pillow. It’s Mark, shuffling in the living room still half asleep. He’s rubbing one of his eyes, glasses resting on top of his head.

“Hyung, thanks,” Donghyuck says in the phone. “I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up.

“Who was it so early?” Mark asks, worried. He gets closer, standing in front of Donghyuck, and squints at him. “Are you… crying?”

Donghyuck flashes him the brightest smile he can manage. His eyes crinkle in the process, causing more tears to spill down his cheeks. “It was Jin-woo-hyung. He called to tell me the guy you punched was arrested.”

Mark’s face turns bright red, a mixture of conflicting emotions making his eyes widen, his eyebrows scrunch together and his mouth fall open. “What?”

He looks so silly that Donghyuck would make fun of him if he wasn’t feeling so damn relieved. He drops the pillow onto the sofa to take hold of Mark’s hands, moving them up and down in excitement. “Hyung, he’ll most probably go to prison.” It’s weird to feel so happy at someone else’s misfortune but it’s justified, he tells himself and allows the laughter that has been bubbling in his chest to ring loud and clear.

“Oh, Hyuck.” Mark tugs at his hands until Donghyuck falls forward onto his chest. Wrapping him in a tight embrace, he lets Donghyuck rock the both of them with his laughter. “I’m so glad.”

“Me too,” Donghyuck replies in between chuckles. He leans in until all his weight is supported by Mark, who stumbles back at the sudden pressure, losing his balance. Thankfully, he manoeuvres so they fall onto the sofa instead of the floor.

Now on his back, head leaning on the sofa’s arm, half-dazed from the sudden change of posture, Mark looks fondly at Donghyuck, who lays sprawled on top of him, still racked by laughter.

As his hilarity subsides, Donghyuck looks up and grins at Mark, who ruffles his hair in response. He smiles as well but it’s stiff and he can’t quite look into Donghyuck’s eyes. Donghyuck frowns, suddenly remembering that he has been ignored for more than a week, “What are you thinking about?”

Mark shrugs. Donghyuck’s frown deepens. “I _will_ tickle you if you don’t speak,” he threatens as he sits up, knees on either side of Mark’s thighs, and pinches his torso where it’s at its squishiest.

Mark yelps in surprise, instinctively seizing Donghyuck’s wrists to hold them firmly away from his body. As he realizes what he’s doing though, he lets go. Donghyuck, who had been trying to free his hands, sways to the side at the lack of resistance, almost falling. He would have if it weren’t for Mark’s hands reflexively flying to his hips and stabilizing him.

There’s a brief second of stillness, where they look at each other with wide eyes, before Donghyuck sighs and slumps down on top of Mark, tucking his head under the other’s chin. Mark’s hands move to rest on the small of his back.

“We’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other,” Donghyuck mutters.

Mark snorts, “That’s rich coming from you,” but immediately backtracks as he feels the body on top of his tense. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

“That’s alright,” Donghyuck replies, “but would you mind telling me what’s going on in your head?”

“I… I just,” Mark clears his throat, “I couldn’t control myself, you know? When I saw him, I mean. It’s like… everything else faded in the background and I just— I just really wanted to hurt him so fucking bad.”

Donghyuck sighs. “Is that all? Should I remind you that I also tried to punch him and failed miserably? At least, you got one in for me.”

“But Hyuck, I… I really lost control that day. I don’t know what I’d have done it if Jungwoo and Doyoung hadn’t stopped me and then I couldn’t face you without feeling ashamed of myself.”

“That’s stupid,” Donghyuck declares vehemently, pushing himself up to stare into Mark’s eyes. “You just wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. My therapist says it’s perfectly healthy and normal to want payback for what one thinks is unfair. And he’s kind of going to get what he deserves so that’s that.” Mark only blinks back at him and so he continues, “What’s not normal is you ignoring me when I need you, you know, ‘cause it’s still a real mess in my head and… yeah… you promised you wouldn’t leave me so…”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, voice hoarse and sincere. “I’m sorry I messed up. I’ll make it up to you. Can you forgive me?”

Donghyuck nods and lets himself be pulled back down. Fingers are running through his hair and he suddenly feels exhausted but it’s the good kind of tiredness, the content one that he gets after a full day of successful activities. It’s probably 7 now, the others are going to wake up and he really wants to tell them the news, but his limbs are lax and heavy, and so he lets his eyes shut.

“It’s going to be fine,” Mark murmurs into his hair. Donghyuck hums in agreement, nuzzling closer before he lets his mind drift away. _He’s going to be just fine_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's at least somewhat satisfying because that was probably the hardest thing to write. I tried to make it realistic (but not too much bc I wanted a happy ending). The pacing is probably a bit off because it actually _didn't want to end_ and it still feels a bit unfinished. So, yeah, let me know your thoughts (pretty please? Gently worded concrit is welcomed). Everyone be safe and always seek help when you need to. <3


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